


Weaving

by lightningwaltz



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Comfort, Companions, F/F, Fluff, Holding Hands, Pre-Relationship, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: No one would ever write an ode to chopping parsley in a friend's kitchen, but maybe someone should.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurish/gifts).



> Yuletide treat for azurish. Your Yuletide letter reminded me how much I shipped this when I first read this series (before I really know what shipping _was_ ) and I just had to write this.

In Sandry's opinion, there was something soothing about cooking with Daja. 

It had been this way for a long time; an imperceptible but substantial thread that traveled all the way back to their first few weeks in Discipline. They'd stirred stews and minced garlic. They'd washed cutlery and dried plates. They'd been efficient and _calm_. As much as Sandry had liked noisy challenges, there was also something charming about silently working side-by-side with a person. There was something equally charming about steadiness and patterns. Sometimes, in that quiet, she had tried to figure out a needlework design that adequately portrayed her relationship to Daja. Then something would make them both laugh, and her thoughts would scatter.

There were differences, to be sure, and Sandry has come to appreciate them. When they'd done certain tasks as children, it was because their names had been written in a certain place, on a certain task sheet. It was because they'd been compelled together by Lark, and her elegant handwriting. 

Now, cut free of Discipline's rhythms, they actively _chose_ to be spend this time together. Even tonight, with Tris still off at Lightsbridge, and Briar spending the month in a neighboring state. She was studying, he was off diagnosing problems in a nobleman's arboretum. And both were diligently sending increasingly cantankerous letters. 

Therefore, it's just the remaining two of them. Just Sandry and Daja, preparing their midwinter meal together. 

She still recalled the struggles of becoming reacquainted as adults. This renewed companionship was hard won. She also knew it took a while before Daja regarded this building as a _home_. These two facts braided together in Sandry's mind. It really was a minor miracle.

No one would ever write an ode to chopping parsley in a friend's kitchen, but maybe someone should. 

The evening flowed on, slow and comfortable. Easy silence interspersed with equally easy conversation. Well... Was it possible for things to be easy and tense all at once? There was _something_ between them. Like a tapestry pulled a bit too tight. Though she should be accustomed to such things, Sandry still watched in fascination when Daja plucked fried chickpea balls right out of the pan. Later, after they cleaned the dishes, Sandry could feel Daja's eyes on her as she apportioned the spices needed for milk tea. 

"So Briar's letters..." Daja said, when they were both caught out. Staring at one another. 

"They're becoming very long," Sandry agreed. Joking aside, she carefully sorted each and every letter from Tris and Briar. She was still becoming accustomed to the idea that the other three might leave frequently, but they would always come together again. Every time she felt a familiar pang in her chest, she'd find that box of correspondence. She rarely reread them, but she'd run her fingers over the papers and reflect on how paper making was a kind of weaving. All those tree fibers bound together. 

"I think he's starting to sound like Rosethorn, actually." 

Sandry had never thought about that, but it made a certain degree of sense. Of the four of them, Briar did seem the most likely to move into a cottage in Winding Circle, deliberately tending plants, and accidentally tending stray people. 

"I just know that Tris complains about everything at Lightsbridge." 

"Yes," Daja nodded. "I think she's very happy." 

While their tea boiled, they decided to exchange gifts. 

Daja handed Sandry a small satchel. Tugging the string revealed a set of bangles. Sandry's breath caught at the intricate designs in the surface. She thought about Daja laboring over this small universe of metal. Just for her. 

"Everything you make is so beautiful." It might be the most purely honest thing Sandry had ever said. When Daja slid them over Sandry's wrist, she thought about how some wedding customs involved this exact thing. 

The jewelry softly clattered together as Sandry went to get her gift out of her overnight bag. It was a quilt, with patterns in the Namornese style. This meant elaborate border designs. It meant jewel tones and shimmering threads. It meant oddly flattened images of water and fire, plants and clouds. She'd created this in a feverish, almost dreamlike state, trying to translate her Namorn-related sorrows into art. Also, it was always meant for Daja. She worked _so much_ with fire, that sometimes Sandry worried she got cold faster than the rest of them.

But Daja had lost a lost a great deal in Namorn, too. Sandry wanted to sink in the earth, remembering this. Maybe this gift was a horrible idea. 

"You were right." Sandry clasped her hands, without thinking about it. "Gold is _impossible_ to work with!" Even a faint dusting of it on otherwise sensible bits of thread. 

"I love it, Sandry." Daja trails her hand over one of the designs. "It's wonderful." 

They wound up sitting in Daja's bed, the quilt wrapped around them, drinking the milk tea. It was flavored with the Tharian spices that Tris had insisted on bringing with her, but never seemed to touch. 

"I wonder what's in this," Daja mused. "I taste cinnamon, cardamom... nutmeg?" 

"It's too bad Jory isn't here. I bet she would know immediately." 

Daja didn't have much of an answer for that, but her answering smile took a while to leave her lips. She always seemed to like it when Sandry remembered things about her former students, even if she had never met them.

A cold rain pattered just outside their window, and it made Sandry want to huddle even closer to Daja. So she did. Something was happening here. She was reluctant to put a name to it, mostly because she liked the slow-moving suspense of it all. It was like a candle that took forever to burn to its nub. And Sandry, of all people, understood the value of a light that glowed for a long, long time. 

Still... Maybe she could try her luck. Just a little. 

_Can I hold your hand?_ She asked it twice. The second time she does it in Trader. Because this was important. 

_Of course._ Daja replied twice, in precisely the same way. 

At first, it's strange to reach out and touch living metal rather than skin. However, it was warm and alive. Just like the silence they share together.


End file.
